


Green Card Part 2

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: M/M, Series: The Borders Series, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-02-04
Updated: 2001-02-04
Packaged: 2018-11-10 13:37:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11128011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Fraser opens up a little, while Ray finally gets what he needs.This story is a sequel toGreen Card.





	Green Card Part 2

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

(Green Card Part 2)

 

 

Title: Green Card II  
  
Disclaimer: They aren't mine. They belong to someone else. But that's  
ok, I get to play with them.  
  
Pairing: Fraser and RayK  
  
Mail:  
  
  
Note: I thought that maybe this would end in a nice three part story,  
but it didn't. Oh well. I got to put a little hurt their way, the upshot  
being that I get to make it better again. You should really go read  
the other three before trying this one, seeing as it's the last in a  
series. Thanks to J. again, for the quick look over. I must be really  
starting to bug her now. *You love it really*  
  
  
  
Green Card II  
  
Noise. Lots and lots of noise. Loud noise. On automatic, I swing my  
arm out and knock the alarm to the ground.  
  
�Stupid bloody thing.�  
  
Well, that's what I try to say, but my tongue feels too big for my mouth  
for the words to come out like that. I somehow manage to open my eyes.  
Oh yeah, that's how they work. I'd forgotten what its like to get this  
drunk. Thinking that somehow my glasses might help me see better, I  
fumble in the dresser and, finally put them on, seeing for the first  
time the aspirin and water by the bed.  
  
After a quick breather to steady my stomach, I reach for the painkillers,  
knowing that there's no way in hell I've got that much foresight to put  
them there. I know I didn't put myself to bed. Last thing I remember  
about last night was knocking into the table on my way to get my bike.  
Do not ask me why.  
  
I can tell he's in the next room. If I listen carefully enough I can  
hear breakfasty sounds coming through.  
  
That's when I think that I notice a smell. A food smell. Not really  
liking the idea of food right now, my stomach has me up and running for  
the bathroom, catching a very brief view of Fraser in my kitchen. Suddenly  
throwing up seems like the better option, cause I know I'm in for the  
'we can still be friends speech'. Maybe I can escape through the toilet,  
just flush myself away.  
  
A few minutes later, after cleaning up I manage to get enough wit about  
me to go out and face him.  
  
�Hey Frase.�  
  
Fraser sets down a plate of toast, a glass of water and an orange juice.  
He smiles a little at me.  
  
�I didn't think you'd want a lot to eat just right now.�  
  
Said with just enough innocence to imply that he's never had a hangover  
before. I sit down at the counter and pick up a piece, but the thought  
of actually eating it is just too much right now, so I set it back down.  
  
I rest my head on my hand, trying to hold myself up a bit. Then I feel  
ready enough to look at him.  
  
I squint at him, turning what I'm sure are seriously bloodshot eyes at  
him.  
  
�Its too early for a lecture ok? I just��  
  
Ok, not a sentence I want to finish, so I let him draw his own conclusions  
about it, which he does with a slight frown.  
  
�Is that why you think I'm here? To 'lecture' you?�  
  
I reach for the water, but I'm still looking at him. �Isn't that  
what you do?� All right, it was harsh, but he's standing there  
all Mountie like even in his civilian clothes and I'm dying here, and  
not just from a hangover.  
  
I look back at him then, and see that he's not doing the Mountie thing  
at all. He looks wrinkled for Christ's sake! Then I see the dark circles  
under his eyes and I know he's having about as much fun as I am and he's  
had nothing to drink.  
  
�Sorry. I'm just�God. I don't know. Sorry.�  
  
He comes round the counter and sits beside me, but he doesn't look at  
me, he stares into the kitchen. We're both of us sitting like that for  
about five minutes when he says, real quiet like, �You surprised  
me last night.�  
  
And before I an help myself (I've mentioned my mouth right? How it has  
a mind of its own sometimes?) I say, �I surprised myself last night.�  
  
Now he turns to look at me and I feel my heart speed up. Oh, God, why  
can't this man love me like I want him too? Is it so wrong to want to  
be happy? 'Cause that's one thing I know for sure, that we'd be happy  
together. Happier than either of us have been in a long time.  
  
�But you did mean it, didn't you?�  
  
I nod, not quite able to reply to that one. He nods back at me. �I�I,  
well, I.� He takes a deep breath. �I feel the same Ray.�  
  
�What?�  
  
He looks startled now, but he continues on. �I feel the same Ray.  
I do.�  
  
I'm puzzled now. I know I've mentioned what a bitch Hope is and now  
she's back, kicking me in the teeth. I need clarification.  
  
�Do what Fraser?�  
  
Without even knowing it, my hand is on his arm, like I'm drowning and  
he's my only hope of rescue. Jesus I'm such a loser, needing him this  
bad.  
  
He gently removes my hand from his arm, but he doesn't let go. �I  
love you Ray. And not symbolically either.�  
  
�Since when? Since I told you last night? What is this, some kind  
of pity thing? You feel sorry for poor Ray and decide to toss him a  
bone? Is that it?�  
  
He looks a little lost and a part of me, that hateful spiteful part of  
me that Fraser had whittled away to next to nothing is back with a vengeance.  
  
�No. I would never��  
  
I cut him off. I can't help it. I want him and he's doing this to me  
while I have the worse headache. Want, need, desperation and pain don't  
do a lot for my character at all.  
  
�Never what huh? Never hurt me? Well, news flash! You did. You  
hurt me. Constable Benton Fraser, here in Chicago on the trail of the  
killers of his father, hurt someone. Me!�  
  
I'm silent again, and I can tell I've just become the worse goddamned  
hypocrite you could find. I've hurt him, and I think to myself that if  
he leaves now, the 'we can still be friends' speech goes out the window.  
He stands and suddenly I'm terrified that he'll go. But I can't get  
my mouth to say anything now. It has to be him next. I don't know why  
exactly but if he doesn't say it right now, then we don't stand a chance,  
even as friends. He stands, and for a second fear grips me. Fear that  
he'll go; fear that I'll beg him to stay. But I can see he's not about  
to go. Maybe he just feels better standing or something.  
  
�Ray, I've never been one to�� He pauses for a moment,  
trying to pick the right word, although when he's with me that must take  
him twice as long 'cause he needs to pick one I'll understand. I can  
tell just from the tight lines of his body that he's nervous. I think  
if he had the hat in his hands he woulda torn it to shreds by now.   
He continues. �I've never been comfortable displaying my feelings  
as such. I was taught quite young that a man never shows emotion.�  
He smiles, and it's a sad little smile and suddenly I feel like a complete  
and utter bastard. �My father once sent me to my room for crying  
in public and he wouldn't let me out until I stopped. That was the day  
we buried my mother.� He can't seem to look at me, and I know it  
must've cost him a lot to tell me something like that. �Then I  
lived with my grandparents. They loved me of course, but they couldn't  
be what I wanted the most. A mother and father, my mother and father.  
When she died I think he gave up a little, turned in instead of out.  
Instead of to me.� He looks up at me, and there is that other bitch,  
Fear. �I just never learned the right way to love someone. Never  
was told it, never told it to anyone. Then when I thought I found it,  
I went mad I think. Desperate, only it was wrong. It wasn't love.   
It was need.�  
  
I can see he's near the brink, and surprising myself I get up and put  
my arms around him. There's nothing sexual about it and I don't feel  
like I'm taking advantage. Right at this point I'm his friend and I'm  
giving him what he needs. Comfort. Which he must really need 'cause  
he really returns the gesture. He's clinging to me like I'm his lifeline.  
  
Eventually he pulls away from me, and although he hasn't been crying,  
his eyes are red a little.  
  
�I didn't mean to react the way I did last night. I really do care  
about you. For a long time now, all I've thought about was what it would  
be like to�to�� He waves about the room with a hand.  
�To just sit on the sofa with you and watch some sporting event,  
or to eat a meal with you, or argue about something trivial.�  
  
�We do those things anyway Fraser.�  
  
�Yes, I know, but not as a couple. Not as two people who love and  
know they love one another.� He puts out his hand again and touches  
my face, and I can't help but lean into it, having craved it for so long.  
�I want what you want. I want someone I love to love me back, the  
proper way, forever. To grow old with someone who cares about me. Whom  
I care about in return.�  
  
I don't see him do it, but he's closer now, his other hand reaching up  
to take my face in both hands, and he's looking at me so intense like,  
I'm actually frightened to think that he could possibly love me as much  
as I love him.  
  
I run my hand through his hair, my voice a whisper as I speak.  
  
�You mean it, don't you?�  
  
He kisses me as an answer and its soft at first, like he's a little afraid  
himself, which is fine with me. Then it gets harder, his tongue suddenly  
wanting into my mouth, and with a soft moan I let him. He moves his  
hands sliding them down my shoulders to the small of my back pulling  
me tighter against him and I love it. I can barely think straight I'm  
so turned on. I'm like a kid who realises after the third or forth time  
that I actually do like kissing. A lot.  
  
My hands are all over him and I can feel myself getting hard in response  
to the way he's touching me and I'm touching him. He grinds his groin  
into mine and I get such a buzz to see that he's just as turned on by  
this.  
  
Finally we pull apart, breathless and more than a little excited. His  
eyes have that slightly glazed look that I know he must see in mine as  
well.  
  
�You taste�very minty Ray.�  
  
I smile, knowing that he might not like what I'm about to say next.  
  
�Yeah, well, its one of the side effects of puking your guts up,  
you know?�  
  
It doesn't seem to bother him cause he's still smiling and I guess that  
he's probably tasted worse than me in his life, the way he licks things.  
  
�Always to the point Ray.� I know what he saying, but his  
eyes are looking elsewhere. I somehow manage to pull myself away from  
that hungry gaze to look at a clock. I've about two hours before I have  
to go to work and there is no way in hell I'm just going to forget about  
this now. The way my luck is, today would probably be the day I get  
killed or somethin' in the line of duty.  
  
I grab hold of his hand and pull him into the bedroom where I turn months  
of frustration into an attack on his mouth. He turns me about, and pushes  
me onto the bed and begins running his hands up and down my chest, focusing  
on one of my nipples. I've always been sensitive there and soon he has  
me slowing my pace a little as I take time out to moan.  
  
Then he pulls away slightly and he's pulling my t-shirt up and off my  
head and before I know it he's using his mouth on it, licking me in swirls  
with his tongue, with just the occasional graze of his teeth on flesh.  
  
�God! Ohh God, Ben, stop. Please stop.�  
  
He does, for about a second, and I suddenly get to see a different side  
to this man. There's an evil grin on his face, one I'd expect more on  
my own than on his.  
  
He shuffles down my body slightly, stopping when he gets to my boxers,  
which I'd slept in. With a quick pull their down and off, just tossed  
aside. I can't help but grin back at him.  
  
�Oh yeah. Like that a lot.�  
  
I'm naked now, while he's fully dressed, but this is like some kinda  
dream come true so I'm just goin' with it. He draws himself up my body  
again, taking care to lean into my crotch, just enough to provide a lot  
of pleasure on his way up.  
  
Suddenly, his mouth is back, one hand on my side, the other on my chest.  
Well, I guess you can guess at how much I'm enjoying this.  
  
His hand is on the move, the feel of his skin on mine, rough against  
the smooth of my chest making me want to touch him in return. Next thing  
though, his hand is on my cock and I gasp as he starts to move in a slow  
motion up and down.  
  
My heart beat's way up and all thoughts of a hangover are gone. I've  
thought about this so many times, but right now, all thought is gone.  
I'm moaning, breathing heavy and desperate. I want to return what he's  
doing to me, but I can't help but be greedy right now. I'm getting something  
I never thought possible.  
  
Much too fast I'm coming in his hand. His hand. I can't believe it.  
Its one of the most erotic thoughts I've ever had.  
  
I'm still gasping as I pull him in for a needy, hungry kiss.  
  
�Love you.�  
  
He smiles, and silently repeats it back while looking down at me. And  
I know now that we're good to go. Suddenly I'm calculating just how  
long I really need to shower and change for work, and come to the conclusion  
I can be ready in ten minutes. Perfect. A little rushed but�  
  
�Perfect.�  
  
I press my hand over his cock, trapped inside the narrow confines of  
his jeans, and yeah, it feels good, but not as good as I know it'll feel  
in my hand. Or in my mouth, I think with a shiver, my dick typically  
reacting to that thought.  
  
�What's perfect Ray?�  
  
I kiss him again.  
  
�You Ben. You're perfect.�  
  
We've somehow crossed over all the crap that life has thrown our way  
and made it to this time and place. Our own little part of the world.  
This is going to work. Work better than anything either of us has ever  
had before. It has to, and knowing the man who just made me come all  
over myself, and him, it will. We've both of us crossed over into new  
territory, and I know for a fact that I'm not going anywhere. I don't  
think either of us are.  
  
  
The End  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
